


Playing Cops and Robbers

by Jemisard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-16
Updated: 2010-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had some troubles with prohibited class a substances. Lestrade did his best to help him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Cops and Robbers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Five Times Sherlock had his Bail Posted (and once the person who would've bailed was in with him.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/130809) by [Jemisard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard). 



For the life of him, Gregory had no idea what had compelled him to post bail for a belligerent coke head.

However, having already gone that far, it was only logical for him to drag said coke head back to his empty house, where he knew there were no drugs stashed about the place and where he actually had food and clean food preparation areas.

Sherlock had been kept in the cells for three days before his bail was up for posting. That hadn’t actually done anything to improve his mood or his temper, but at least he was three days clean at this stage and getting too worn out to be a flight danger.

“There’s a spare room with a bed. You’re going to be fairly tired for the next couple of weeks.”

“Lestrade, don’t insult my intelligence. I know the symptoms of cocaine withdrawal.” He drew himself up, looking fragile and hollow in his large, black coat. “And I have no intention of allowing myself to become debilitated by it.”

Gregory stared at him for a moment. “So you’re planning on breaking out of here and going to score again. Thanks, Holmes.”

“I didn’t ask you to post my bail, Inspector,” Sherlock snapped.

“No, you didn’t. But I know what happens to cops in prison and you won’t fare any better. They’d eat you alive in there, because no amount of clever will help you against angry murderers and rapists.” He took off his coat, hanging it up and putting his gloves in the pocket for when he was inevitably called out.

“I would have coped,” the young man sniffed disdainfully. It was as likely a symptom of his drug abuse as contempt.

“And you would’ve come out of prison angry, resentful and dangerous. Would you like a drink? I have tea, coffee and apple juice.” He walked to the kitchen, hoping he wasn’t horribly misjudging Sherlock in leaving him by himself in the living room.

“No.” There were footsteps and then the whump of a body hitting his couch. He let out a breath he hadn’t really been aware he was holding.

“Have you eaten today?”

“If you don’t already know, I’m not telling you.”

He already knew he’d refused to eat while he was in the holding cells. He probably hadn’t eaten for a day or two before then. “I don’t have a lot, but there’s bread for toasting, jam, peanut butter, marmite...”

“Lestrade, please at least try not to be boringly pedestrian for a moment.”

He started bread toasting and got out plates. “If you collapse from starvation, they’ll hospitalise you and they won’t hesitate to sedate you to keep you in.”

“I won’t collapse. The body is transport for the mind, nothing more, it will obey. You coddle your base desires too much.”

“Coddle? Sleep and food are not base desires, they’re basic biological needs, Holmes!”

There was a harrumph sound from the living room.

Gregory ignored it and went back to watching the toaster.

When it was done, he made up his toast with jam and grabbed a coffee, heading back out into the living room.

Sherlock was asleep.

He had never thought it would actually happen. The young man was curled up on the couch, the collar of his coat turned up, starkly dark against his pallid skin.

Gregory set down his plate and cup and went to the spare room, getting a quilt and laying it over Sherlock, tucking him in and leaving a pillow next to him, in case he woke and wanted more support for his neck.

*~*~*

He had read over case files late into the night. There were two robberies and a triple homicide to be solved, not odd enough to warrant looking for Sherlock, but difficult enough to keep him up far too late.

When he woke up in his armchair, he wasn’t surprised to find Sherlock curled up on the couch, flipping through the cases distractedly.

“The cousin committed the murders. The first was anger, but the second two had to be killed to remove witnesses.”

Gregory closed his eyes again. He wasn’t awake enough for dealing with Sherlock.

“He claimed to not be there, but from the photos, it’s clear that he was still living with them. Four toothbrushes in the bathroom. You can use that as your justification to get DNA run, knives are messy, someone inexperienced would almost certainly do themselves harm.”

He could smell coffee. He opened his eyes and saw that Sherlock had a cup of the stuff in front of him.

“The first robbery.... you’re looking for someone who has cased the shop extensively. They knew the lay out, where the items they wanted were and which pieces they wanted. They’re probably a customer and they were probably there the night before to make sure that the robbery itself went well. Also, the fact that he used please and thank you, indicates a level of intimacy with these people, he wasn’t being sarcastic, he was working on reflex when dealing with them. Customer or potentially a reseller client.”

He really needed coffee. He got up slowly, rubbing his face.

“Also, Donovan called and said that they want you to take the morning off, which is why I turned off your alarm.”

He groaned. “You answered my phone?”

“No, I listened as the message was left. And before you ask, no, I’m not high, I’m feeling too physically lethargic to do anything as active as buying drugs, but the mental inactivity of sitting around your house was motivation enough to get myself coffee and your case files.”

Gregory almost spoke, then just shook his head. He needed breakfast and caffeine and a shower. Not necessarily in that order.

He moved to the kitchen, glad that the kettle was still heated, the water hot enough to mix some instant coffee into. He watched it dissolving while Sherlock started to talk again.

“The last one took me a bit longer, no doubt because my mental faculties are impaired by the drudgery of the company for the last three days and the absence of my preferred stimulants. Caffeine is a poor replacement and you don’t have any cigarettes around the house.”

“I don’t smoke,” he mumbled to himself. “I haven’t for twenty years.”

“Also, your coffee is terrible. Honestly, I know you have little taste and even worse discernment, but instant, Lestrade?”

“God, it’s like being married all over again.”

“I’ve met your ex-wife, the only thing we have in common is the ability to spot genuine diamond from cubic zirconia in under five seconds.”

“You were telling me about the second robbery,” he said in a tired voice.

“Ah, yes. At first, there was nothing apparent in the photos and testimonials but, as I said, I blame my impaired faculties for not seeing it sooner.”

“Seeing what, Sherlock?”

“The photo. The photo was damaged. Yes, the room was ransacked, but the photo of the man with his new wife, that was torn straight through. That was excessive for the sort of robbery it was. It was the ex-wife, she probably feels she got an unfair deal in the divorce.”

“You can’t know that,” Gregory replied as he shuffled back out with a breakfast bar and coffee.

“Of course I can, and you could too if you weren’t so fearfully mediocre.”

It was lucky for Sherlock that it was early and Gregory was too tired still to actually kill him and find somewhere to hide the body before work. “Can you try to limit the insults when I’ve let you into my house to stop you being incarcerated?”

“I am limiting them.” He looked up. “You are the smartest police officer I have ever met,” he eventually said.

“Really?”” That sounded frighteningly close to a compliment.

“Yes, of course. You were smart enough to bring me in to the fold.”

He rolled his eyes and drained half his coffee. “I’m having a shower before work. No, you’re not coming in with me, you scare my team.”

“Cretins,” Sherlock mumbled. “What am I meant to do?”

“Use your vaunted intellect to find something legal and non-destructive to occupy... You know what, you’re right, you should come to work with me.”

“If you’re concerned I’ll go out and get more coke-”

“I’m more scared what you’ll do to my house while I’m not here. We’ll stop by your place on the way in, you can get clean clothes and whatever you need to stay over here.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Lestrade.”

“I’m paying your bail, I want to keep you close.” He slammed the bathroom door a bit harder than necessary to end the conversation.

*~*~*

Sherlock’s house was worse than even Lestrade had feared.

It smelt awful on the outside and inside wasn’t really any better. Sherlock unlocked the door and shouldered it open, pushing piles of papers, books and what looked like a plastic jar of withered baby carrots to the side.

There were piles of things everywhere. Mostly books and paper but some photos, note books. Then he started taking in the other details. Knives. Mutilated sausages. Whips, chains, ropes, machetes, “... is that a pig’s head?”

“Mm?” He spun around and looked. “Yes. I was leaving it out for a study on sun heat through glass, but clearly that experiment is ruined because I was arrested instead.” He picked his way through the piles of things. “Stay out of the kitchen.”

Naturally, as soon as Sherlock vanished into the bedroom, Lestrade looked into the kitchen.

When Sherlock came out with a suitcase in one hand, violin case in the other and clean clothes, Lestrade was still half hanging out of the window feeling sick.

“I told you not to go into the kitchen, inspector. Now, shall we? We wouldn’t want you to be late, god knows what the other idiots will do without someone to tell them what to do.”

He swept out of the flat.

Lestrade hated him right then.

He jogged to catch up with him, falling into step alongside the lean figure.

“You were very foolish to leave me unattended in my bedroom. I _am_ a recovering cocaine addict, you realise.” His tone was conversational.

“I’m showing you trust with the addiction, to not risk bail when you know I can’t really afford to pay it if you breach.”

“And the drug’s squad have already searched my apartment,” Sherlock commented.

Lestrade nodded. “And that.”

They finished their trip to Scotland Yard in silence.

*~*~*

Having Sherlock in the office was... _different_.

He was content to stay in Lestrade’s office, not sleeping, despite his exhaustion, but too tired to get into real trouble about the place. The cold case unit were sending him files to get insights and Donovan couldn’t seem to resist going in and poking and harassing him.

It was enough to keep him occupied and out of trouble and to let him get on with his work while knowing Sherlock wasn’t breaking the terms of his bail.

Lunch was from a vending machine, but he didn’t manage to convince Sherlock to eat anything again. He just wanted nicotine patches and caffeine, as though somehow he could compensate for not eating by making do on those.

When the call came through of a major bank robbery with two fatalities, Sherlock looked brighter than he had in days, bouncing to his feet.

“No. You’re staying here.”

Gregory learned the satisfaction of shocking Sherlock Holmes to silence in that moment.

“I can’t have you at the scene. You could compromise the investigation in court.”

“I’m less of a risk to your crime scene than those idiots you call your team,” Sherlock yelled, his very body coiled with indignation.

“None of my team could be called up before a court and be confronted with a felony drug possession charge,” he said in a hard voice. “Every case you helped with while you were using, we’ve had to go back over and make sure the convictions can’t be compromised or challenged on the basis that you were high on cocaine at the time. So sit down, be quiet and behave and you can go over the case file when we’re back.”

Sherlock was again quiet, though this time he was more subdued. Gregory had no doubt that it had never passed Sherlock’s mind that he had endangered convictions by engaging police cases while using but he had and he needed to face it.

“Lestrade?”

He sighed, pausing as he pulled on his scarf. “Yes, Holmes?”

“Will that happen on any of our cases? Are there legal challenges being made to evidence because of my pending drug conviction?”

Pending conviction. It sounded like he was planning to plead guilty. “No. And if there are, we can hold the cases without you. But we shouldn’t have been in that position.” He did up his coat and grabbed his phone. “You can’t work with the police if you’re not staying clean, Sherlock. And that will mean more criminals getting away with it.”

Sherlock looked almost like a little boy, curled up on Lestrade’s couch in his black coat.

“I’ll be back later. Stay here. Don’t cause too much trouble for Maloney.”

He headed out, giving Maloney the news that she had to watch Sherlock, maintain the phone contact between the office and the scene and the coroner’s.

He hoped that maybe this was a wake up call for Sherlock Holmes.

*~*~*

Nearly six hours later, Lestrade finally got back to the office.

He had sent everyone else straight home, but he had to pick up his ward (assuming he hadn’t wandered off) and clean up the paper trail they’d made so far.

The office was quiet when he got in. Maloney had left (he didn’t blame her), and his own office was still dark.

The phone on Anderson’s desk rang. He almost answered it, but then moved on. It could wait.

The phone stopped ringing as he walked by and Donovan’s phone started to ring. A cold chill started to trickle down his back and he kept moving, the phone stopping as he walked by.

He swerved to avoid Davies’ desk. That phone stayed silent, but Barker’s phone started as he passed.

He snatched it up. “Who the hell are you,” he hissed.

“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, recently divorced, no children, seventeen years on the force with four commendations.”

The male voice was clipped and smooth, quiet and commanding and entirely disquieting.

“I know who I am. Who are you,” he asked again.

“Your generous offer to bail Sherlock Holmes from cocaine charges has been noted, but is no longer required. Other provisions have been made. Sherlock Holmes is no longer your problem.”

“The hell he isn’t,” Lestrade snapped. “Where is he? Who are and what have you done with him?” He might not always like the younger man, but he was frail and vulnerable right now. Well, as vulnerable as a sociopath could be.

“You do not- No, I’m handling it. Go back to sleep.”

“What?” He pulled the phone back and stared at it, lifting it to his ear again as he realised the man was arguing with someone there with him.

“Go back to sleep and let me deal with the situation. Do not make me bring Mummy into this.”

“Mummy?” Maybe he had entered the twilight zone. Maybe Sherlock spiked his thermos with LSD for amusement.

There was some grunts and then a new voice. “Hello, Inspector.”

“Sherlock! Where are you, are you okay? And who is that lunatic who has you?”

Sherlock chuckled. “I’m quite fine, Lestrade. I didn’t mean to panic you by leaving but your words made me reconsider.”

“Reconsider what,” he asked softly.

“I enjoy hunting criminals. I wish to continue doing it. But I do not want to as much of a risk to your investigation as your team pose.”

He was torn between being proud that Sherlock realised he had to clean up and angry at the slight against his team.

“So I contacted someone who could arrange what I need to be on top of my game again. Distasteful, but necessary. I know you would have done your best, but it wouldn’t have been enough. I would be bored beyond reasoning within twelve hours and I would’ve taken the cocaine I had stapled into the lining of my violin case.”

“Goddamnit, Holmes...”

“Your drugs teams need to search better and not be put off by mundane things like jars of eyeballs. Anyway, I do appreciate your attempts at help but you simply aren’t equipped for it. Mycroft _is_.”

The ‘kidnapper’ was the elusive brother then.

He wished he could say he was insulted that Sherlock thought he couldn’t cope with him, but he wasn’t. It was a fact. Sherlock was like raising a demanding bulldog. He was more trouble than Lestrade could handle when he was being agreeable and if he got belligerent...

He was glad it was Mycroft’s problem, honestly. He couldn’t keep Sherlock and have a job outside of it, let alone a more than full time job like his. “I do want to hear when you’re getting over this.”

“Of course, of course, you’ll be kept updated about when I can return to doing your job for you. Until then Gregory.”

The phone disconnected.

Lestrade smiled slightly and recognised the use of his first name for what it was.

 _Thank you_.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/575.html?thread=443199#t443199  
> Inspired by scenario five of: http://archiveofourown.org/works/130809


End file.
